


Uneasy Lies The Head That Wears A Crown

by Buckets_Of_Stars



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Wearing Crowley's Clothes, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Consort Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom Crowley (Good Omens), Dress-Wearing Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Prince Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Royalty, Soft Dom Crowley (Good Omens), Strong Crowley (Good Omens), Sub Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckets_Of_Stars/pseuds/Buckets_Of_Stars
Summary: After the failed Armageddon, Crowley isn't sure what to expect when he finally returns to Hell.Being promoted a Prince by the Dark Council themselves, with Aziraphale being blessed as his dear Angelic Consort, isn't exactly what the ginger had in mind. As long as both him and his mate are safe and together, however, Crowley isn't going to complain.Not one bit.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 76
Collections: Top Crowley Library





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so technically some of you all might have already read these one-shots before since I posted them in my other fanfic "Ineffable, Indescribable and Many Other Words of Love" but I've decided to move all of the Prince Of Hell!Crowley and Angelic Consort!Aziraphale into their own one-shot collection.
> 
> I hope you enjoy and if you want to leave a prompt in the comments, feel free! 🥰
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Good Omens or any related materials

* * *

Aziraphale knew to not bother Crowley when his mate’s in a meeting.

The angel knows this. He knows that his husband, now one of the few higher ranking Princes of Hell after getting promoted by Lucifer for “seducing an Angel of the Lord,” has to make sure that he keeps all of his assigned ranks in order, to not be distracted by Aziraphale as the blonde paces around the door to the closest Briefing Room.

Anxiety is clawing at Aziraphale’s insides, his hands shaking as he twists his fingers, swallowing against the whine that wants to rise up.

He truly doesn’t know why he’s so anxious. 

It’s been a good day so far, all things considered. Nothing too bad has happened, he got to try the newest cake at the bakery right across the street and he even made it back down to Hell in time to catch Hastur on his way to his newest assignment.

“Consort Aziraphale--” The blonde had squawked, arms flapping at his sides like some terrified bird and Aziraphale smiles politely. “How, uh, how are you?”

“Fine, fine, and it’s just Aziraphale, dear.” The angel glances behind Hastur, frowning when he doesn't see the frog demon’s normal companion. “Where’s your husband? I thought you two were going to go--oh, what was it--take a midnight stroll through a deserted graveyard?”

Hastur sighs, falling into step beside the angel as they round a corner. “There’s been an emergency meeting, it seems. Something about not getting enough wicked deeds done this last week. Crowley called everyone down to Briefing Room 666. Well, those who didn’t already have an assignment, at least.”

Aziraphale’s stomach had churned, mouth tasting bitter when he swallowed. “Oh, yes, well. I’d better be going, my dear fellow. It was, um, q-quite lovely to talk to you, just dandy.”

Hastur nodded, dark eyes shining in confusion in the silver lights but he had let Aziraphale fall ahead of him without a word.

Blinking, the angel shakes his head, the dark wooden door quickly coming back into focus as he raises his hand to knock. With a huff, however, he lowers it, resuming his anxious pacing.

He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, but he knows that he _needs_ to see Crowley, have his husband hold him and sooth the fear away with his soft words and softer touches.

It’s almost physically painful and the blonde is turning around and ripping the Meeting Room door open before he’s even aware that he’s moved.

“--and I want all of those bloody rats released into every single sewer around London before sunrise or I swear to Satan, I will kick all of you in the fucking cocks sssso hard you’ll be able to saranade Archangel fucking Gabriel for an entire week--”

Crowley’s standing at the head of the table, when Aziraphale manages to blink away sudden tears to see his husband clearly, decked out is his formal Prince attire, a silver and black crown sitting slightly lopsided on his head. His red locks are scattered, framing the metal like the wispy flames of hellfire, golden eyes blazing as he glances from each demon around his table to the next, one hand held up in irritation, his body braced against the oak with the other.

His aura is filled with authority, with power and grace and control and it’s one of the sexiest things Aziraphale has ever seen in his 6,000 years.

The demons surrounding the Prince all nod as one. Crowley, mouth opening to give what Aziraphale assumes is another snarled order, finally seems to notice the angel standing in the doorway and his beautiful eyes widen.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asks, voice immediately shifting into something Aziraphale could only describe as a coo. “What’re you doing in here, dove?”

“Uh, uh,” Aziraphale ducks his head, trembling a little as all of the demons at the table turn to look at him, their faces a mixture of awed and terrified. Of him or for him, the angel really isn’t sure. “I can go, my dear, if-if--”

Crowley’s suddenly in front of him, his warm hands gently cupping Aziraphale’s face, lifting the angel’s chin until Aziraphale can make eye contact with him. The barely held-back distress the blonde knows is showing on his face causes his husband to snarl, fangs flashing even as he carefully gathers Aziraphale closer, arms snaking around his waist.

Aziraphale suddenly sobs, burying his face against his mate’s neck, cuddling closer as Crowley gently shushes him, lips pressing against his forehead and temples. A muffled cough a few feet away, however, has both the angel and demon glancing up, Crowley’s chest rumbling in a low, predatory growl.

The other demon are staring at them both, eyes wide in astonishment that the feared Prince Crowley could be so, well, sweet, and Aziraphale would feel prideful that he’s the one who’s managed to ruin his husband’s carefully constructed badass reputation if not for the way his veins race with anxiety.

“So, uh, my Lord Crowley, do you want--” One of the demons begins, their scale-covered face pale in the white washed light above. “I mean, your Majesty--”

“Get out!” Crowley barks, tugging Aziraphale further into his arms. His eyes, the angel imagines, are practically shining, glazed over in an almost feral protectiveness and Aziraphale would be lying if it didn’t cause his slacks to get just a little bit tighter. “Go do your fucking jobs, you worthless, messily scums.”

A chorus of “Yes, Sir” and “Yes, my Lord” is heard before all the demons shuffle out as one stinking mass and Aziraphale sags further against his mate, allowing Crowley to lead them over to his chair at the table, sinking into his husband’s lap once he sits down.

Twiddling the shimmering buttons of Crowley’s new, fancy Prince attire, Aziraphale sniffs, nuzzling into the gentle touch pressed against his red-tinged cheek. All remaining anger is gone from Crowley’s voice, the ginger’s words as soft and smooth as honey.

“What’s got my darling so upset, hm?”

Aziraphale shrugs, curling his legs up so that he’s cradled in Crowley’s hold, surrounded by the warmth and safety of his husband’s long arms. Crowley just growls low in his chest, the sound more of a soothing rumble than the possessive thunder that had shaken his slim frame earlier.

“No one--” Crowley hisses the words, body tensing and Aziraphale can feel the way his demon’s breath hitches in a sudden, rising rage. “No one hurt you, right, baby?”

Aziraphale knows that if he were to say “yes,” if he were to give any single indication that anyone has laid even a finger on him or made him uncomfortable or even coughed in his direction, Crowley would destroy them. He would sink his fangs into their necks and tear them limb from limb with no hesitation.

“No.” Aziraphale whispers, feeling Crowley sigh in relief. “I just--I honestly don’t know, dear, I got incredibly nervous and-and needed to see you. I am very sorry that I interrupted your meeting, however.”

Crowley snorts. “I’d much rather cuddle you than deal with those dumbasssses than any longer than necessary, beloved, besides, I was getting sort of sick of hissing at them. It was like talking to brick walls, I ssswear.”

“I did--” Aziraphale swallows, shifting in his husband’s lap, subtle grinding down, just a little bit. He feels Crowley stiffen in response, breath hot against the angel’s cheek as he noses along his temple. “I did quite like your whole, um, Prince get-up. It was very _devilish_ of you, darling.”

Crowley leans back, pupils merely slits against the gold and Aziraphale can’t stop the whimper that travels up his throat, the sound quickly turning into a moan when Crowley tightens his grip on his waist. 

The featherlight pricks of his husband’s claws against his sensitive skin, even through his pants, is enough to have the angel blinking away stars, another moan shaking his chest as he throws his head back, wispy curls wild.

“Oh my lovely, beautiful Consort,” Crowley hisses, slinking forward to nip along Aziraphale's now exposed neck, sucking at the creamy skin. Aziraphale keens, grinding down with more force and feeling his husband groan into his next words, hips thrust upwards just a little. “You are the true ruler of my heart, after all.”

Aziraphale just catches his husband’s lips in a heated kiss and neither of them speak for a long while afterwards.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by @anon: oooh kinda h/c prince!crowley prompt does you: az is sitting in his lap during a meeting (as you do) when someone suggests a really stupid strategical move. aziraphale points out that said move is stupid (very politely bc az) and the demon who suggested it laughs at him and insults him, basically implying he’s just crowley’s dumb blond pet. cue Crowley’s reaction 😈😈 (don’t feel obligated to do this one, it’s just a thought i had lol! ily leah!!!)

* * *

“That won’t work.”

Forcing himself not to shrink under the sudden eyes of the demons that dart over to him in the semi-dark meeting room, Aziraphale lifts his chin, sitting up from where he was cuddled against Crowley’s chest. His fiancé is slouched in his throne, silver crown resting on the oak table in front of them, golden eyes sharp as he adjusts his gentle grip on his mate’s waist.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” The demon in question barks a few seats to their right, his skin an oozing green. His --Amon, Aziraphale believes, is his name-- mouth is open in a gasp, yellow fangs on display and Aziraphale tries his very hardest not to gag. “I’ve been working on that plan for weeks.”

The rest of the demons around them are dead silent, the air thick with the sudden, rising tension.

Aziraphale shakes his head, shifting forward, feeling more than hearing the pleased rumble Crowley lets out as the blonde’s ass scrapes against his hips. Tilting his neck, Aziraphale swallows as Crowley’s teeth gently graze his skin, feeling his demon’s arms curl tighter around him.

“They’ll see this-this _blasted plan_ before we’ve even made it up the escalators. Believe me, good fellow, but the other angels are not quite as daft as you lot like to think--”

“No, no--” Amon cuts the angelic Consort off, lips curled in a sneer as he leans forward over the table, claws braced against the wood. “I think we all know just how _fucking stupid_ those angels are. I mean, we have the Prince’s slut right here as an example-- _gak_ \--”

Crowley’s up before anyone even has a chance to move. 

He’s across the table, eyes blazing a yellow fire, his own fangs bared and on full display. The air around him is ice, the shadows along the walls seeming to almost bend inward in response to his fury. His hands, now more clawed than not, are wrapped around Amon’s throat, lifting the demon up in a tantalizing display of strength. 

Aziraphale swallows down a whine at the sight, his center pulsing in a sudden burst of arousal so strong the angel wiggles in the now empty head chair.

Crowley hisses, bringing the squirming demon down so that they are at eye-level, tightening his grip on the man’s neck. Amon chokes, attempting to claw at Crowley’s hands but the ginger pays him no mind.

“I am going to ssssay this once: If you ever, _ever_ sssso much as turn your disgusting, useless fucking face in my mate’s direction again, if you ever insist that I don’t love him or that he’s just ‘my slut,’ I will rip you apart with my teeth until there isn’t anything left of you but rotting bones. _Do I make myssself clear?_ ”

“Y-Yes, _gah_ , yes my Lord--”

“Get out of my sight.”

Waiting until Amon nods, Crowley releases him with a growl, throwing the other demon down so hard that he tilts in his chair, spilling to the floor in a tangle of molding limps.

Crowley, pausing only once to hiss down at the now trembling Amon, wastes no time in slinking back over to Aziraphale, slipping under his mate’s legs until he can cradle the blonde in his lap again. Aziraphale blinks up at him, licking his lips. blue eyes clouded in desire and submission and Crowley feels himself stiffen at the wonderful sight.

“Meeting dismissed.” He manages to grunt before leaning down and capturing Aziraphale’s mouth in a hungry kiss.

The angel moans, shifting in the seat so that he can wrap his own arms around Crowley’s neck, not even waiting for the rest of the assemble to exit the meeting room before he’s grinding down into his mate’s clothed, hard cock.

And if that makes the other demons leave the room much faster, then Aziraphale can’t be blamed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by (and dedicated to) @new-endings: mmm maybe in the beginning before aziraphale became widely known in hell as crowley's mate, crowley had to give aziraphale something that marked him as crolwey's? (collar, ring, you name it) that way other demons would back off from the pretty angel roaming about freely in hell haha but some demons see it as a mark of ownership crowely has over aziraphale. and in a way, it is, but the reverence and love crowley showers aziraphale with sets the record straight right away.

* * *

“This can’t happen again.” 

Aziraphale glances up from his place on their bed, watching as Crowley paces. His husband is snarling, hissing under his breath as he makes his way back and forth across the floor closest to the entrance, his gleaming white fangs on display. 

“Darling--” Aziraphale says, reaching out to gently tug at Crowley’s fancy new jacket sleeve, frowning when the demon continues to glare at the door. “Please, it was only a simple misunderstanding.”

Crowley shakes his head, scent sharp and bitter in anger as it settles along Aziraphale’s skin but the angel basks in it just the same because it’s Crowley’s. “He _grabbed your arm_ \--” 

“And you nearly bit his face off!”

“Should’ve ripped him apart, isss what I really should've done--”

“He thought I was an intruder.” Aziraphale interrupts, ignoring the low warning growl his mate lets out. “Really, Crowley, I’d thought you would be pleased with how well your security is doing?”

“Not when it’s _you_ that they’re attacking!” Crowley snarls, his long, silver cape slapping against his legs as he prowls back and forth across the room like an enraged predator. “For _someone’s sake_ , Aziraphale, the wanker nearly scratched your bloody arm in half--”

“I would hardly call grabbing my sleeve an attack, my dear.”

Crowley hisses. “Doesn’t matter, he still _touched_ you, scared you.”

Aziraphale sputters. “I was not--At not a single moment in that whole interaction was I the-the least bit frightened.”

“You’re forgetting that I can _literally smell fear_ , dove and if I leave you alone with the demons in-charge of keeping you _safe_ and you-you come back to me smelling like that--terrified and confused--one more _fucking time_ , I’m going to--”

“I can take care of myself, Crowley.” Aziraphale sniffs, glancing away from Crowley’s intense gaze, not even blinking when his husband lets out another hissing snarl. “I don’t need constant protection.”

“That’s not what I’m--” Crowley suddenly sighs, running one clawed hand through his hair, his crown falling slightly lopsided against one side. Aziraphale’s own hands itch to go fix it. “Look, sweetheart, you are the _Royal Angelic Consort._ ”

“I know what my title is--”

“But do you know what it _means_?” 

Crowley sighs again when Aziraphale stays silent, finally stopping and crossing his arms over his chest, leaning one slim hip against their dresser. The cups rattle against the top but neither of them care.

“It means that you’re _valuable_ , Aziraphale. Not just as you always have been to me, but to Hell now as well. Some demons either want you kept safe, all for themselves or they just want you-you _dead_ and I will not-- _cannot_ \--under any circumstances, allow anything but the firssst to even be _thought_ of as an option.”

Crowley’s chest heaves, his body shaking with a growl of possessive, protective rage so deep that it seems to vibrate through Aziraphale’s own immortal bones. His smoky scent creeps closer, wrapping around Aziraphale even from across their bedroom. The angel shivers.

“So, _no._ Anyone grabbing your arm or-or sneering at you, or anything of the sort will ever be looked at as only a mere “misunderstanding.” Never when it comes to you.”

Aziraphale stands up from their bed, brushing invisible specks of lint from his Consort attire as he walks over to his husband. The blue and white dress swishes around his ankles and the angel wordlessly miracles it still with a small snap. He blushes when, even through his irritation, Crowley smirks adoringly down at him as he comes closer.

His mate’s golden eyes narrow again, after a second, however. “Besides, they all know what you look like, ssso this _stupid fucking excuse_ of not knowing it was you can stop right now. I’ve basically engraved the sight of your beautiful face into their thick, bloody skulls anyways.”

Aziraphale frowns, reaching out to lightly drape his arms across his still grumbling husband’s slim waist, resting his head against Crowley’s chest when the demon immediately gathers him closer. 

“Why’s that?” 

Crowley scroffs like the very question offends him. He speaks against the kiss he presses into Aziraphale’s curls, his breath warm. “How else are they going to know who to protect no matter what? All of my guards--or at least, I _thought_ all of them--knows that you are to be the number one priority at all times, after all, no exceptions.” 

Aziraphale is silent for a second, chest practically glowing with love and appreciation for his wonderful, amazing, _powerful_ Prince of a husband. 

Leaning up, the angel captures Crowley’s lips in a gentle but hungry kiss, moaning when Crowley’s arms encircle his waist instead. Bringing his hands up, Aziraphale curls his fingers in his husband’s hair, twirling the short ginger locks.

The sound of Crowley’s crown hitting the floor is what breaks them apart. 

“Oops.” Aziraphale giggles, wiggling away when Crowley gently pinches his sides. “My bad.”

“Minx.” The demon growls, smiling down at his still laughing husband, fighting to keep his own mirth out of his voice. “Didn’t anyone tell you to never touch a Prince’s crown?”

“When you’re the Prince’s darling Consort?” Aziraphale rolls his eyes, leaning down to grab the red and silver headdress from the ground, swinging his hips just a _little bit more_ when he notices Crowley’s eyes follow the movement. “I don’t think the rules apply.” 

“Are you ssssure about that, baby?” Crowley hisses, warm chest pressing against Aziraphale’s back and the angel falls back against him once he rises again. “You ccceratain?”

“Mmm, pretty sure, yes.” Aziraphale’s breath hitches as Crowley suddenly kisses his jaw, his mate’s wonderful tongue swirling around his pulse point. The crown falls from Aziraphale’s hands but neither of them seem to notice. “But-But I think I could use a _\--ah--_ a refresher.”

Crowley nods, his hand moving downward, squeezing Aziraphale’s arse through the fabric of his royal dress and the blonde moans, head tilting back to rest against Crowley’s thin shoulder. 

The heat that simmers in-between Aziraphale’s legs is almost hot enough to burn and the angel whimpers, trying in vain to grind back into his husband’s hard cock poking through Crowley’s black pants. 

“I think that--” Crowley whispers, gently lifting the hem of Aziraphale’s royal gown, smoothing his fingers down the skin of his mate’s soft thigh, leaving little, prinking marks behind that has the blonde whining and squirming closer. “--everyone around here needs a little bit of a-a reminder, hmm? Of just who you _belong_ to, my darling dove, who is the only one allowed to _touch_ you--”

“Oh, yes please--” Aziraphale begs, legs trembling. His center aches. “ _More_.”

Suddenly, Crowley’s leaning backwards, pulling himself away from Aziraphale and the angel does whimper this time, more out of confusion and slight distress than anything. He quiets, however, when Crowley kisses him, light and sweet. His husband is grinning when they pull away.

Aziraphale barely has time to open his mouth to ask for clarification before Crowley is snapping his fingers. 

Their clothes vanishing is the first sensation the angel feels and it's a welcome one. 

The bedchamber air is cold against his skin and Aziraphale shivers, his nearly silent gasp of surprise quickly turning into a higher pitched one of arousal, the sight of his demon’s long, strong body as heavenly as ever. Crowley’s cock, bright red and leaking, stands at attention against his stomach and the blonde aches to be filled by it once again.

The other sensation, however, is new and Aziraphale pauses for a split-second, hand flying up to pat at his throat.

“Hold on, sweetheart.” Crowley says, grabbing his wrist and gently leading them around the bed, toward where their gigantic mirror stands. “Let me show you.”

It’s a collar, Aziraphale realizes, eyes widening as they finally stop, glancing over at both of their reflections. 

The band is a dark red, nearly black and it stands out brightly against the pale skin of his upper neck, made of what Aziraphale can only describe as the lightest and softest leather he’s ever felt. The fabric glides between his fingertips like water and the angel squints, leaning in closer to look at the gold charm dangling from the front.

“It’s a snake.” Crowley clarifies, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, his chin resting against the angel’s shoulder as he looks between the collar and Aziraphale’s face. “My official symbol as the Prince. Do you--Do you like it, beloved?”

“Oh, Crowley--” Aziraphale sighs, turning around in his husband’s arms until he can fully face the ginger, cupping his mate’s cheek in his palm. “--I love it, darling. It’s _beautiful,_ absolutely exquisite.” 

Crowley turns his face inward, lips barely grazing Aziraphale’s knuckles and the blonde swallows, unconsciously pushing his already glistening center closer to his mate’s jerking cock. A hand against his hips, however, stops the movements, and the angel blinks. 

“I ssstill need to explain some things first, my Consort.” Crowley hisses and Aziraphale nods, trying his very hardest not to pout. “The charm holds a trace of both my demonic power and my scent. It’s both a reminder, my dove, and a warning for others about going against you, and what will happen if they do.”

Aziraphale swallows, feeling the collar bob against his throat. “So it’s like a-a claim?” 

Crowley smiles, golden eyes sparking. “If you want it to be, love, then yessss. It’s a _claim._ ”

The heat that zaps through Aziraphale’s body is enough to nearly make him dizzy with need and he couldn’t stop the moan that escapes him even if he wanted to. His hips jerk forward without permission, the need to be filled with as much of Crowley as possible almost causing Aziraphale to sob. 

Crowley doesn’t seem surprised, however, just gathers him up, lifting the whimpering angel into his arms and leading them backwards toward their bed, his hands cupping Aziraphale’s arse. 

“You like that, don’t you, baby?” Crowley asks as he gently sets Aziraphale down on their sheets, crawling over the angel until he’s laying against his mate, smothering Aziraphale until no part of the blonde is uncovered. “You like being marked as _mine_ , be owned and-and tagged by me, yessss, you do.”

Aziraphale nods, hips thrusting as he tries to get Crowley closer, _closer_. “Please, Please, n-need you--” 

Crowley shushes him, one hand going lower until he’s pressing against the blonde’s clit, circling the mass of nerves until Aziraphale can barely think of anything other than the desire causing his immortal blood to sing. The demon’s sinful tongue darts out, trailing along the skin just above his collar and Aziraphale whimpers.

“What do you want, sssweetheart?” Crowley leans above him, his face mere inches away from Aziraphale’s neck, finger barely grazing Aziraphale’s warm walls and the angel keens. “Do you want me to fill you up with my seed, mark you-- _fuck, fuck_ \--as mine just like that pretty little collar does, hmm? Shove my claim so far into you that no one will ever be able to forget?”

“Yes, _yes_!” Aziraphale finally wails, head thrown back as he spreads his legs as far as he can, giving his mate a clear path to as much of the angel as possible, a sign of submission that Aziraphale knows is going to drive Crowley over the edge. “ _Please_ , Crowley--need you in me, need you to mark me, so-so- _-ah--_ no one else can touch me, no one but you!”

Crowley’s smile is sharp against Aziraphale’s neck, golden eyes warm but blazing in lust and adoration as he glances down at the panting blonde below him. 

“Good, because I’m going to _own every single part of you_ , my beautiful, beloved Angelic Consort.”

And Aziraphale has never felt safer. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by @anon: Crowley finds Aziraphale with his crown and cap, standing in the mirror and pretending to be Crowley and act all commanding/tough while he watches from the door (trying his best to not to snort)

* * *

When Crowley finally manages to make his way down to their bedchambers for the night, he isn’t entirely sure what he expected to find.

And it’s certainly not this. 

“I am the Prince--” Aziraphale is standing in-front of their large, wall mounted mirror, one of Crowley’s silver capes draped across his shoulders. Perched atop his head, Crowley’s black and red crown sits, vivid among the angel’s nest of golden curls. “--the Prince of Hell. And you will all bow before me!”

Crowley, biting his lip to keep from laughing, leans against the doorway, watching as his adorable mate paces across the floor, still decked out in his own Angelic Consort Attire. 

The light blue and white dress hugs Aziraphale in _all the right places_ and the Prince licks his lips, blazing golden eyes tracing each miniscule movement of his mate, each bounce of that wonderful arse and sway of his tempting hips. All his for the taking, yes.

Aziraphale’s clearly copying him, imitating the ginger in a way that would make him angry if it was anyone else, and Crowley hums in a low, silent approval at the sight of Aziraphale in his colors, wearing his collar, cape, and crown.

“You-You--” Aziraphale giggles as he stops, puffing his chest out in a poor imitation of Crowley’s regal stance. “--You bloody idiots, _bickering fools_. I’ve told you a million times, do your jobs! If-If I have to tell you again, I’ll rip you apart--”

“You forgot to hissss, dove.”

“ _Ah!_ ” Aziraphale jumps, hand coming up to grasp at his chest as he gasps, spinning around so fast the crown nearly slips from his head. “Oh, darling, you scared me!”

“Apologies, baby--” Crowley smiles, creeping behind his Consort until he can wrap his arms around the blonde, gathering Aziraphale against his chest. “Miss me?”

Aziraphale frowns, glancing up at Crowley through his lashes. “Of course, my dear, but what are you doing back so early? I thought you had another meeting tonight?”

“Bah, figured a few demonic Dukes wouldn’t faze Beezlebub. They told me I could head out early, sssomething about ‘inexperienced Princes only get in the way’ and ’annoying snakes’ and blah blah blah.”

“Oh, well--” Aziraphale , settling even further into Crowley’s arms. “--that was very, um, very generous of them, yes.”

Crowley shrugs. “Guess so. But what I want to talk about, my love, is just what you were doing when I walked in. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything of importance?”

“N-No, my dear, you, uh--” Aziraphale coughs, blushing bright red. “I was simply putting away your laundry, you really never do hang your garments up, darling, and-and they--the capes--can get especially wrinkled--”

“But you’re _wearing_ it, dove?”

Blushing, the angel ducks his head, scowling down at the carpet below them when Crowley lets out another laugh. “I was only drying it out, is all. I was--It was going to be safely returned to the closet in just a jiffy, yes.”

“No no.” Crowley growls, hand creeping slowly lower, fingers grazing the smooth skin of his Consort’s thigh through his royal gown. Leaning down, Crowley gently nips along Aziraphale’s neck, right above his mate’s collar, tongue flicking out to swipe along the black and silver leather. “Keep it on, beloved. It’s a good look for you, after all.”

“You _\--oh--_ ” Aziraphale moans, tilting his head to the side, one delicate hand reaching up to cup Crowley’s cheek. “You really think so, my Lord?”

“ _Absolutely._ ”

Crowley bites at his pulse point, dragging his bratty minx of a Consort closer. Aziraphale whines, and Crowley has barely begun leading them toward their bed before he’s attacking his mate’s mouth in a heated and nearly feral kiss.

His cape slips from around Aziraphale, falling to the floor, the crown going next but neither of them seem to care.

This definitely isn’t what Crowley expected to find, but he’s not disappointed.

Not one bit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First winner of the Random Follower Generator, the wonderful @izabella95, requested this prompt:   
> \- high ranking Crowley  
> \- protective/rescuing Aziraphale from whatever  
> \- could lead into NSFW territory if you like 👀 I would not be opposed.
> 
> So I chose to do another Prince of Hell!Crowley and Angelic Consort!Aziraphale (with permission from her of course haha) I hope you guys enjoy! 🥰

* * *

Meeting with the new Dukes of Hell wasn’t something Crowley would consider a ‘fun activity.’ 

The only thing keeping him at least semi-sane is the fact that Aziraphale’s by his side. His angel’s sitting in the Consort throne next to Crowley’s larger one, his lips pulled in an uncomfortable smile, one of his soft hands encased in Crowley’s own. 

Rubbing soothing circles against Aziraphale’s knuckles, Crowley brings them up for a kiss before turning back toward where one of the lesser demons currently stands. Her dark eyes are wide, mouth agape, seemingly rendered speechless by the Prince’s mere presence and Crowley would feel good about that except for the fact that everything’s taking _so bloody long_.

“Dismissed!” Crowley finally barks, waving his free hand toward where one of the guards stands.“If all you idiots are going to do is just stand there trying to swallow Beezlebub, then me and Aziraphale can leave.” 

“If only.” Aziraphale mutters and Crowley just kisses his hand again with a sigh of his own. “How many more do we need to meet with now, darling? My cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so much. . .”

Frowning, Crowley gently cups his Consort’s face before turning back toward the door. “ _Oi_ , let’s speed this along, right General? One last bastard and then we’re done for the day, yes?”

With a swift nod, the burly demon opens the large doors toward the back of the room, ushering in what looks like a Duke dressed in an 18th century suit, the cuffs pushed to his elbows. His eyes are bright green, pupils a dark red and Crowley sits up straighter in his chair as the other demon gets closer. 

“My Lord.” The Duke says, bowing slightly as he finally comes to a stop in-front of Crowley. “I am Duke Barbas, from the Ireland demonic division. It’s such a pleasure--”

Crowley waves away the words. “Yes, yes, hurry up, my mate and I want to have at least _some_ time to eat something before night falls above and we can’t do that if you’re jabbering away, can we?” 

“Crowley--” Aziraphale scolds and Crowley flashes him an apologetic but cheeky smile. “Don’t be rude. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

“You’re more important than anything this fool has to say anyways, dove.” 

Barbas frowns, glancing away from Crowley toward Aziraphale. The ginger feels a low, possessive rumble filling his chest at the way the Duke eyes his angel, knowing how beautiful the Consort attire looks upon Aziraphale. The white dress shirt, the dazzling crown barely visible through his angel’s fluffy curls, the way the light blue of his buttons make his lovely eyes sparkle even more. . .

Yes, Crowley is _well aware_ of his mate’s beauty.

Narrowing his eyes at the fellow demon, Crowley tightens his grip around Aziraphale’s hand, bringing it fully into his lap.

“We can’t have the darling Angelic Consort going hungry.” Barbas says, licking his lips. 

He suddenly takes a step closer, grabbing Aziraphale’s other hand before the angel can pull away and bringing it up to his mouth, speaking against Aziraphale’s knuckles. “And _angelic_ you are. I’ve heard what the others were saying but you’re even more beautiful in person--”

Through the sudden ringing in his ears, Crowley can just make out Aziraphale letting out a gasp of disgust, ripping his hand away from the Duke’s with enough force that he nearly tips his chair backwards. Instinctively, Crowley settles his shaken mate, Aziraphale’s pale face causing his heart to break, before turning toward where Barbas stands, a red haze of rage settling along his vision. 

“Ssssso,” Crowley hisses, standing up from his throne with the grace of a predator, squaring his body in an instinctual position to strike. His eyes are narrowed, locked onto the frozen form of the Duke as the other demon shivers in terror. “I don’t think you quite understand. Azzziraphale? He’s _mine_. _My mate, my Consort, my angel_. You think that you can come in here and _touch_ what’s _mine_?”

Barbas shakes his head. “N-No, my Lord--” 

Crowley cuts him off, grabbing the shorter demon by his throat with a snarl of fury, spitting his rage in the Duke’s quickly paling face. “Oh really? Becaussse that’s exactly what it looks like to me.”

“I’m new, _gah_ \--”

Crowley snarls again, flashing his gleaming fangs. “Then let me usse this as a first lesson then. You see that collar? You see that crown? Those are mine, my marks, my claims. _Never_ come near my Consort again, got that, you _stupid fucker_?”

Barbas doesn’t respond, just claws at Crowley’s hands with weak fingers, trying in vain to pull the enraged Prince’s grip off his neck. 

Crowley is growling all the while, making - not even words anymore - but _sounds_ that are deep in his throat, in his chest, the beast inside roaring like the flames of an inferno, blazing with the untamable fires of Hell. The dull air around them, however, is like ice, cold, silent and deadly.

Finally, Crowley releases the other demon, throwing Barbas away from the thrones with not even a grunt of effort. The Duke rolls for a second with the impact, landing on his back with a groan of pain. 

“Take him away.” Crowley commands, voice dark and low. “Leave us before I really lose control and sink my teeth into his worthless throat.”

Waiting until the now unconscious Duke is unceremoniously dragged away by a handful of guards, Crowley snaps the doors locked and lets out another growl before forcing himself to calm. Turning back toward his still silent angel, Crowley cups Aziraphale’s cheek, tilting his Consort’s chin upwards until their eyes meet. 

Both anxiety and arousal swirl in Aziraphale’s blue eyes and Crowley feels his breath hitch, just a little.

“Are you okay, my dove?” Crowley asks, clearing his throat.

Aziraphale nods, allowing his mate to gently guide them both over toward the Prince’s bigger throne, settling himself on Crowley’s lap when the demon carefully pulls him closer. “I-I’m alright, darling. He, uh, he didn’t hurt me--” 

“He _touched_ you.” Crowley growls, finally giving in and nosing along Aziraphale’s neck, breathing in his angel’s sweet scent. Taking a second to gently bite against Aziraphale’s pulse point, Crowley pulls back, tightening his hold on his trembling Consort’s waist. “Should’ve ripped him apart, is what I ssshould have done--”

Aziraphale speaks around a moan, grabbing onto Crowley’s shoulders as the ginger lightly thrusts up against him. “What you can do _now_ , my dear, is take me to bed. I need-I need _him_ gone. Please?” 

“Oh, my love.” Crowley says, voice a low rumble in his chest. “I was thinking we could do ssssomething else instead. That I could take you here, on this throne. Would you like that, beautiful?”

He sucks a dark mark against the creamy skin of Aziraphale jawline, soothing the sting with a quick swipe of his forked tongue. Aziraphale whimpers, obediently opening his legs wider when Crowley palms at his wet center, and Crowley feels his own dick twitch against the confines of his suddenly unbearably tight dress pants. 

Aziraphale whines. “Oh, Sir, _please_. I’m yours, always _\--ah--_.” 

“Yessss,” Crowley breathes, already snapping away their clothes. “That’s just what I thought, angel, always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos make my day and comments fuel my writing!


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